


Blue Light

by sherleigh



Category: SHINee
Genre: M/M, Sort of a Songfic, and under my skin, but not really, inspired by one of those nights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-12 20:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16878477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherleigh/pseuds/sherleigh
Summary: a fic based on key's 'one of those nights'





	1. One of Those Nights

 

 

**One of Those Nights**

 

It’s one of those nights.

 

Of all nights, why tonight, Kibum laments. He’s worked hard, he deserves to enjoy himself. Why is life so cruel as to deprive him of little pleasures like having a good time at his company’s annual dinner party?

 

The company’s HR team have really outdone themselves this year. They’ve rented an entire subway train for the party, with each car decorated in a different theme. Word is that the company splashed the equivalent of the average worker’s yearly salary on tonight’s party. Well, for a fashion house, it’s never just a party is it? Everything is a branding opportunity. He should know, he works for the marketing department. It’s not the glamourous life he imagined for himself when he graduated with an honours degree in fashion design, but it pays the bills so he can’t complain.

 

Still, tonight was supposed to be a day to let loose.

 

With a drink inside him and one more in hand, Kibum had glanced around the packed carriage for a familiar face; to dance, to gossip, to explore what the night had to offer.

 

His eyes fell then on a familiar sight; on buoyant hair dyed the colour of spun gold, on a lithe body unmistakable to one who has spent hours mapping it out with his hands and lips. In a sea of people dressed as if they were residents of Panem, he stands out in his simple white shirt and black jeans.

 

Hopeless, Kibum had thought, absently shaking his head at his ex’s refusal to put anything but the bare minimum of effort into dressing himself. It used to make him so angry, but now, all he feels is the faintest whisper of affection, like driving past an old neighbourhood and seeing your old house still unchanged.

 

~

 

“You’re coming in that?”

 

The source of Kibum’s annoyance picks at the hem of his hoodie and pouts at him, as if he’s being unreasonable. “It’s cold, but not cold enough that I’d want to wear two layers.”

 

He knows they’re going out with Kibum’s colleagues and bosses. He knows they’re going to a private members’ club somewhere in the fancy part of Seoul. He knows how things work in the fashion industry, how first impressions are everything. He how important this is to Kibum. And yet.

 

Kibum hates this, hates having to be the responsible one all the time. He hates being reduced to this nannying role where he has to vet his boyfriend’s clothing and nag and cajole him into dressing up properly.

 

He’s tired.

 

“You know what, just stay home. I’ll go alone.”

 

~

 

The next carriage is done up like a forest. Actually, on second glance, it’s less like a forest and more like the aisle from Crazy Rich Asians. Of course, Kibum thinks to himself, what 2018 party would be complete without a reference to the year’s most joyful, unabashed tribute to fashion? The floor lights up under his feet as he walks through the carriage; the poles have been decorated to look like trees. Someone nudges him out of the way to pose with the pole and a photographer snaps away, blinding Kibum with the flash of his camera.

 

The flash reminds him of that white shirt.

 

~

 

The forest air is almost cutting in its freshness. Kibum breathes deeply; he can almost feel his lungs singing with gratitude. He walks a few steps behind his boyfriend, who has been here before and who is taking Kibum off the beaten trail to show him a great view apparently.

 

It brings back memories. His parents used to take him hiking when he was very young, although he’s sure they must have carried him for most of the journey.

 

“Oh, we’re here!”

 

His boyfriend’s excited voice brings him back to the present. “Thank goodness, I think my legs are going to fall off.”

 

A laugh. A hand, which he takes gratefully, to haul him up over the ridge that his boyfriend is standing on. And oh, what a view.

 

He can see all the way down the hill, across the car park they parked the hired car in, the highway they drove in on and beyond that, the sea. It feels like he’s standing on top of the world, even though they’re only halfway up the trail that goes to the peak.

 

“It’s so beautiful.” He tightens his fingers around his boyfriend’s hand, grateful that he hasn’t let go yet. He’s always so self-conscious about how small his hands are in comparison to Kibum’s that they almost never do this.

 

“Let’s sit here for a while,” he suggests. Kibum carefully sits on the edge, wary of the steep drop, and this time it is his boyfriend who tightens his hold on his hand. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall.”

 

~

 

“Uh, can you move?”

 

Kibum snaps out of his daydreaming. He’s been leaning against a pole, lost in time, and a bunch of people are waiting impatiently to use it for selcas.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, embarrassed for losing himself.

 

The greenery of the carriage seems so oppressive all of a sudden, the flashing lights, traumatic. He feels like he can’t breathe. He needs a drink. Food too, though he suspects that there will only be food in bird-sized portions to suit the bird-sized appetites of the fashion industry.

 

Hopefully the next carriage has a bar in it and isn’t just for decoration like this one.

 

He squeezes past a group of people making their way to the front. The last member of that party holds the door open for him, and Kibum thanks him with a nod.

 

So… it’s a… Kibum blinks, trying to make sense of the assault on his senses. What exactly is this monstrosity of a carriage supposed to be?

 

The floor is covered in some hideous dull red carpeting and there are random beige couches placed here and there. It would look like some cheap motel room, but the furniture is too nice for that sort of vibe. Whatever, Kibum thinks with a shrug, there is a bar at the end of the carriage and the couches are a handy place to sit and nurse a drink. All of the couches are occupied, so he’ll have to share, and maybe his couchmate will be someone worth talking to.

 

Kibum waves at the bartender to get his attention. “Classic mojito, please.”

 

“This is a non-alcoholic coach,” the bartender replies, with the bored tone of a man who has said the same sentence too many times already. He points to a chalkboard menu mounted behind the bar. “We have a list of mocktails and a full list of coffees. The cold brew isn’t bad, actually.”

 

A non-alcoholic bar. Fucking millennials, Kibum curses, even though he is one himself, and probably a hipster too, by any definition of the word. “Yeah, give me a cold brew then.”

 

He takes his cold brew coffee – is there any rule against mixing coffee with alcohol? Kibum can’t remember – and ambles around the carriage, trying to look for a promising spot.

 

“Yah, Kibum-ah!” A girl calls out and Kibum turns around to see his department’s accountant, Ha Ryung, waving him over. They’ve not spoken much but he’s so glad to see a familiar face that he wastes no time joining her.

 

“Ooh, sexy,” she drawls, eyeing up from head to toe. Kibum laughs, not really knowing how to respond. He’s wearing a mesh t-shirt under a jacket; it’s meant to only reveal flashes of skin here and there, but it keeps betraying him by falling open.

 

“You look good too,” he replies. She’s wearing a black and white floor-length dress and some PVC gloves; nothing revolutionary, but he has to give her credit for effort. “I like the gloves.”

 

She perks up. “They’re cool, right?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Can you watch my purse? I need to go to the ladies’.”

 

Fuck me, Kibum grumbles. Do I look like a bag boy? “Sure,” he tells her.

 

And that’s how he becomes the only loser not sharing a couch with anyone. He might as well paste a sign on his forehead saying ‘SOCIAL PARIAH’.

 

Whatever, the night’s ruined anyway. Kibum lies on the couch, uncaring that his shoes might be staining the beige upholstery.

 

~

 

Why does it have to be so hard, Kibum wonders.

 

It was supposed to be a relaxing night in. Just Netflix and dinner ordered in from their favourite chicken shop; the sort of low-key date that can’t really go wrong. And yet, here he is, lying on the couch instead of sharing his boyfriend’s warm bed with him. Where did the night go wrong?

 

Was it when they couldn’t compromise on what to watch and ended up sitting through some stupid variety show neither of them liked?

 

Was it when his boyfriend got carried away and put his sticky fingers in Kibum’s newly-washed hair?

 

Was it when they started arguing about who was less considerate of the other’s feelings, digging deeper and deeper into their memories for more slights, more evidence to fling at each like knives?

 

Kibum sighs and rolls over on the couch. The clock ticks loudly in the silence of the night. He’s uncomfortable; the couch is new and hard, and as the night deepens it becomes colder. He doesn’t even have a blanket. Surely his boyfriend isn’t so angry that he’ll leave Kibum out here all night, right?

 

Sleep won’t come. The clock ticks on. It’s too late to go home – the buses and subway have stopped running – but too early to wake up and call it an early morning.

 

Kibum waits for forgiveness, for an apology.

 

He waits. And waits. And waits.

 

And wakes up to sunlight shining through the windows, an empty house and a blanket, haphazardly thrown over his sleeping form.

 

He runs into him at work; catches a glimpse of him as his make-up artist tells him off while she works to cover the dark circles under his eyes. It’s a strange comfort that Kibum gets from the sight, comfort that it wasn’t just him that cared enough to lose sleep over their fight.

 

He uses his lunch break to buy a pack of herbal medicine from the supermarket near the office and gets an intern to deliver it to his boyfriend. He wonders when they stopped being able to communicate with each other.

 

~

 

By the time Ha Ryung comes back, Kibum’s mood is thoroughly rotten. He returns her handbag and abandons his barely-touched coffee and leaves this carriage for the next. He’s probably ruined their relationship, but he couldn’t care less right now.

 

The next carriage is another themed one. No bar, no food, just bunches of people flocking from corner to the other trying to take a flattering photo for Insta.

 

It’s a beach. The carriage is divided down the middle; one half filled with glittering sandstone and the other with water. It even smells like the sea. Some hidden speakers play the sound of gulls cawing.

 

If Kibum were in a better mood, he’d probably have marveled at the effort that had gone into turning a subway train carriage into a good approximation of a beach. He’d have wanted photos for his own Insta, partly to record the memory and partly to brag to his followers about the awesome company he’s working for.

 

But now, it feels so excessive. He looks around, at all of the gaudy outfits that’ll probably never be worn again, at the sand and water and props that’ll be thrown away without a second thought and thinks that when the revolution comes for the heads of the bourgeoisie, they’ll deserve whatever painful death is handed out to them.

 

Suddenly, the scenery changes. The train’s aboveground now, somewhere near Apgujeong, and the shimmering lights of the night sky fill the carriage. If the beach was impressive earlier, it’s beautiful now.

 

Kibum has always loved the beach at night.

 

~

 

The wet sand is firm and cool under his bare feet.

 

The water is frigid, but he’s careful to walk just beyond the lapping of the waves. His boyfriend walks beside him, shoulder to shoulder because they don’t live in a country where two boys can hold hands without attracting a lot of attention to themselves.

 

Not that it matters. It’s enough, to be here together.

 

“If I had known you like the beach so much, I’d have suggested this sooner,” he says, an hour later when they’re sitting on the deck of their rented chalet, sharing a warm beer and staring at the full, brilliant moon.

 

“It’s always been my dream to live next to the sea. Not now, obviously, but some day.”

 

“I’d like that too.” He takes a drink and hands the bottle to Kibum. “I always feel at home when I’m at the beach. Like, I feel in my bones that I am descended from something that came out of the water and it’s like the sea is calling me back.”

 

Kibum doesn’t really feel that way, but he gets what his boyfriend is saying. He looks at him, stares openly and unashamedly, at the fullness of his lips and the contrast between the bleach of his hair and the tan of his skin. He could be a mermaid, Kibum thinks absently, and reaches out to kiss him.

 

~

 

He hates that he is so weak.

 

As he crosses over to the next carriage – just how many carriages are on this bloody train anyway? – it occurs to Kibum that he’s been running the whole night. From his memories, from the feelings he still has, and he’s run so far but he still can’t escape.

 

This carriage has a bar, but it serves food, not alcohol. Given that the carriage is decorated like an American diner, Kibum can already guess what sort of rubbish is on the menu; bite-sized burgers, some variation of fries that’s supposed to be clever but which will never top the perfection that the humble fry is and frou-frou milkshakes.

 

Kibum takes a seat by the window and stares out at the passing scenery. It’s nothing noteworthy; steel rail tracks and heavy cables, so very industrial in comparison to the business districts of Seoul. When he gets tired of the scenery, he lays his head in his arms and closes his eyes, wishing that he were at home.

 

~

 

“You can have the fries. I have a photoshoot tomorrow.”

 

Kibum slides the plate of fries back to the centre of the table. “Your metabolism is much better than mine, I’ve already eaten too much today.” Truth be told, he’s not hungry at all. There’s an emptiness inside him, but it’s one that can’t be filled with food.

 

There is no argument, no agreement. The fries sit in between them, ignored, like the unloved child of a failed marriage.

 

“Let’s end this,” he says, the words spilling out of his mouth far easier than they should.

 

He gets a shrug in response. No eye contact, like he isn’t even worth looking in the face. “Yeah, it seems like the end of the line for us, doesn’t it?”

 

People had warned Kibum against dating a model, warned him about the callousness of models and the ease with which they dipped in and out of relationships. He should have listened, should have realised far sooner that he’s not the exception to a rule.

 

He stands up, his chair scraping against the tiled floor. “Eat, hyung. You always scold me for wasting food, so you shouldn’t waste it either. See you around, I guess.”

 

Kibum sits with the food until it becomes cold and inedible. When he calls for the bill, the waiter tells him that it’s already been paid.

 

~

 

The creaking of artificial leather gives away the fact that someone has taken the seat opposite his. Kibum curses his luck and takes a deep breath before plastering on a fake smile for his newfound company.

 

It’s him.

 

Kibum is stunned. He doesn’t know what to think, how to react.

 

There is a drink on the table between them, a cucumber and mint mojito.

 

“You hate cucumber,” Kibum says absently.

 

“You like cucumber,” he replies, pushing the drink closer to Kibum. “I got it for you.”

 

Kibum’s pride has been worn away by the long night. He takes a gulp of the mojito, grateful for the way the mint and cucumber slake his thirst. The alcohol burns him from the inside out, but it’s good. “Where’d you get this from anyway?”

 

“The first coach. That’s the only one I know that has drinks. I haven’t explored the back yet.”

 

That means he must have spotted Kibum too, at some point, and either followed him all the way from the first carriage to this one with a drink in hand or he went all the way back to the first carriage just to get a drink for Kibum. “Why?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Why did you want to get me a drink?”

 

He shrugs and looks away, suddenly shy. “You don’t look very happy.”

 

It’s Kibum’s turn to shrug. “It’s one of those nights.”

 

“Yeah.” He holds Kibum’s gaze for a while longer, and turns to look out of the window. Kibum looks too. Seoul’s skyline is silhouetted against the night sky; the rumble of the train on the tracks and the distant sound of voices play in the background of their own little bubble of space. In between gaps, Kibum catches a glimpse of the moon; pale and round, so much more distant than it was when they admired it together at the beach.

 

~~~

 

_hi guys!_

_i'm back with a new fic! it's a two-parter, the second part should be up soon. let me apologise for all of the other stories waiting for completion... goodness knows when i'll get around to them._

_as always, read and enjoy and do leave me a comment telling me what you thought of the fic. please support onew, key and taemin's respective comebacks in whatever way you can, even if it's just streaming the MV._

 

_also, i got my lovely poster from the wonderful Beauty Lies Within graphics shop on aff: https://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/348409/beauty-lies-within-graphics-busy-uwu_

 


	2. Under My Skin

**Under My Skin**

 

There’s something off-kilter with Kibum tonight.

 

He likes people and fashion and partying almost as much as Taemin dislikes those same things. He’s dressed to the nines, flashing so much more skin than he’s usually comfortable with; if Taemin were the type to speculate, he’d guess that Kibum leaving alone wasn’t a part of Kibum’s plans tonight.

 

Which is why it’s worrying that he’s here, slumped in the least popular coach in an entire train, half-heartedly sipping on his favourite drink. He can’t seem to bear looking at Taemin’s face, but he hasn’t asked him to leave yet. He’s not even being catty.

 

_Isn’t it cute how you’re playing at being concerned?_

 

But Taemin is concerned. He genuinely likes Kibum, even now, even when Kibum was the one to dump him.

 

“The train will stop soon, at Dogok, if you’re not feeling well.”

 

Kibum grunts a ‘thank you’ and finishes his drink.

 

~

 

Kibum’s hands are beautiful.

 

He’s not the type to wax poetic about other people’s body parts – it’s usually him that’s one the receiving end of compliments – but he can’t get over his fascination with Kibum’s hands.

 

Kibum’s fingers are long and slim and so very graceful. When Kibum opens a can, by sticking his forefinger into the ring tab and curling the rest, then pulling just hard enough that the vein in the back of his hand sticks out just that little bit, it gives Taemin goosebumps.

 

Kibum has large palms too; large enough, and gentle enough, to hold an entire wriggling kitten.

 

He likes those hands resting on his back whenever Kibum is guiding him somewhere; often through a crowded store or restaurant when he can’t be bothered to navigate past human traffic. He likes those hands splayed wide on his waist, mapping the planes of his body for the umpteenth time.

 

But most of all, he likes them like this; tangled with his, holding tight.

 

He doesn’t like his own hands, with his smaller than usual palms and stubby fingers, but when Kibum’s holding his hand, he’s grateful to have them just so that he can enjoy this feeling. “Don’t worry,” he says, squeezing Kibum’s hand “I won’t let you fall.”

 

The responding squeeze that he gets is more thrilling, more beautiful than the view offered by the Saryeoni Forest Path that they’ve travelled all the way to Jeju to see. And if he brought Kibum to a ridge knowing that he’s scared of heights – just to get Kibum to hold his hand – who needs to know?

 

~

 

Kibum wastes no time hopping off the train when it stops. There’s a bunch of partygoers waiting to board and Taemin has to push his way through them to keep up with Kibum; they look at him as if he’s crazy to be leaving the party of the year when it’s really just beginning.

 

_You are crazy, pretending that Kibum wants you to follow him anywhere. But you don’t really care what Kibum wants, do you?_

 

If Kibum is surprised to see him tagging along, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he slows down, so that it’s comfortable for them to keep pace. Kibum still isn’t talking to Taemin, or even looking at him, but he hasn’t asked him to leave either.

 

They’ve just crossed the intersection in front of the subway station when the sky rumbles ominously. Barely a moment later, it starts raining. Kibum dashes for cover under the awning of a convenience store, but Taemin throws his hand out to hail a cab. Luck is with him – as it usually is – and one pulls up right away. He gives the driver his address and waves Kibum over, hoping, hoping…

 

Kibum comes.

 

~

 

They’re fighting again.

 

It tires him, rankles him, how the simplest thing can be a minefield with Kibum. If Kibum doesn’t want him to suggest a horror movie for their movie night, then he should have said so from the beginning. He doesn’t like romcoms, but that’s never stopped Kibum from suggesting them.

 

And sure, he made a mistake putting his greasy fingers in Kibum’s hair, but that’s all it was; a mistake. A mistake that wouldn’t have been made if kissing Kibum weren’t good enough to make him forget himself, so Kibum should have taken it as a compliment more than anything else. But he hadn’t. Kibum had taken it as an opportunity to enumerate Taemin’s failings as a boyfriend. It’s not like he doesn’t know, but it hurts all the same to have them thrown in his face when he’s done nothing to deserve it. He has a temper too, he’s not some punching bag that Kibum can take his anger out as he likes.

 

And look where it’s left them now; him stewing in his anger alone on the bed he assumed they’d be sharing tonight and Kibum sleeping on the couch.

 

The minutes tick by; Taemin waits for an apology, for forgiveness, but minutes turn to hours and the door to his room remains firmly shut.

 

When the wind whistles through the quiet streets outside, Taemin remembers how Kibum hates being cold. He wonders how Kibum will react if he brings a blanket out to him and figures that he’s prepared for any reaction, but he can’t live with himself if he let Kibum freeze just because of a silly argument.

 

Kibum is sleeping. He doesn’t look comfortable at all, but he doesn’t wake up even when Taemin drapes the blanket over him. It lands oddly, not quite covering Kibum, but Taemin doesn’t dare fix it. Kibum is a light sleeper; that he got this far without waking him is a small miracle and Taemin doesn’t feel like pushing his luck tonight.

 

Kibum is still sleeping when Taemin is ready to leave for work. He lets Kibum sleep, knowing that he must be tired if he hasn’t woken already.

 

Later in the day, an intern comes searching for him with a pack of herbal medicine, which Taemin gladly accepts.

 

He likes how they don’t have to use words to communicate.

 

~

 

It’s pouring by the time the cab pulls up at the lobby of Taemin’s apartment. Kibum tries to ask the cabbie to take him home, but the man refuses. Taemin only catches snatches of their conversation. His heart is already beating an uneasy rhythm.

 

Kibum reluctantly follows him into the building.

 

 _If you had the slightest bit of conscience left inside your husk of a soul, you won’t inflict any more of yourself on him_.

 

Taemin sneaks a look at Kibum in the elevator. Kibum is staring at him, no longer docile like he was in the train; no, there is something dark brewing in his eyes. It’s a look that sends a frisson of thrill up Taemin’s spine.

 

He swipes the keycard for his apartment and pushes the door open. Kibum follows him closely, so close that it raises the hairs on the back of his neck. There is something so primeval about this dance they’re doing, predator and prey, despite the painfully mundane setting. Taemin kicks his shoes off and moves further into narrow hallway between the door and the rest of his apartment. Kibum follows him in and shuts the door behind himself, cuts off the light spilling in from the hallway.

 

The only light available is what little filters in from the windows. Taemin hears more than he sees Kibum take his shoes off. It feels odd, somehow, to move out of this space, but what else is there to do? Taemin takes a step towards the living room-

 

-Kibum grabs the back of his shirt and, so fluid, backs him into the wall. He’s trapped before he even realises what’s happening; hard, unforgiving wall at his back and hard, unforgiving Kibum holding him in place with his presence alone.

 

_You always get what you want. That’s why nothing is precious to you._

 

“This is what you were after when you brought me the drink, isn’t it?”

 

The mojito was like a child’s offering; Taemin saw Kibum upset and couldn’t think of any other way to make him feel better than to bring him his favourite drink. If there were chocolate or branded handbags available, Taemin would have brought him that instead. It was when Kibum accepted the drink, when Kibum didn’t chase him away, that Taemin started hoping for more, but even then, this wasn’t what he was after. All he wants whatever Kibum is willing to give; nothing more, nothing less.

 

But that’s too complicated to explain, so Taemin just nods.

 

Kibum steps closer, holding his half-inch of height above Taemin. They’re so close that there’s barely air to breathe between them, but Kibum’s arms still hang limp by his sides. Taemin tilts his head up, just a fraction, and parts his lips just so. He couldn’t have made things clearer with a flashing neon sign.

 

Kibum remains motionless.

 

 _Go on, make a fool of yourself_.

 

Taemin brushes their lips together, his open lips against Kibum’s closed ones, praying, pleading.

 

It works.

 

Kibum closes the gap between them, accepts Taemin’s offering with a mouth that’s just as hungry. Their teeth clack together, painful, but it doesn’t stop Kibum and so it doesn’t stop Taemin either. He runs his hands over the lapels of Kibum’s jacket, feeling the coiled, tense muscles underneath, over the material covering his sharp collarbones, over the slope of his shoulders to that sweet spot between his shoulder blades.

 

Breathless, Kibum tries to pull away but Taemin bites his lower lip. He doesn’t really know why; he’s not thinking straight, not thinking at all, right now.

 

Kibum responds to the sudden violence with violence in kind. Taemin finds himself slammed back against the wall, Kibum’s hips grinding into his and Kibum’s mouth mercilessly ravaging his already tender lips. He doesn’t let go, not even when Taemin squirms, not until Taemin is lightheaded.

 

Then he allows Taemin to breathe.

 

A part of Taemin dislikes being so easily toyed with. Another part of him is grateful, that Kibum understands what he needs and gives it so readily.

 

He lifts one leg, wraps it around Kibum’s thigh, seeking more friction; he’s so hard already, it’s almost embarrassing.

 

Kibum grabs his leg, lifts it higher so that it’s wrapped around his hip, and Taemin understands. He jumps lightly, wraps his legs around Kibum’s hips and Kibum holds him tight, secure, and walks to the bedroom.

 

The first time Kibum did this, he had tripped over the coiled up cord of Taemin’s charger. The resulting fall was like something out of a slapstick comedy; hilarious to any spectator but utterly terrifying for the participants. Ever since then, Kibum always makes to sure to ask whether Taemin’s left him an obstacle course to navigate through. It’s far from romantic, but Taemin loves how playful Kibum is when he asks, loves how it lightens the mood.

 

This time, Kibum doesn’t ask.

 

_You’re a whore, so he’s using you like one._

 

The room is dark too. His curtains are only half-open and there’s barely any light coming in through the window. Perhaps it’s better this way; he can pretend that Kibum’s expressions are something other than the blank mask he’s been wearing all night.

 

Kibum drops him on the bed and climbs over him, ripping the jacket off his shoulders. Taemin follows his lead and pulls his shirt over his head, ignoring the buttons. He escapes from the fabric just in time to see Kibum discarding his mesh top too.

 

Thunder rumbles in the distance.

 

~

 

He hates this part of himself.

 

Kibum had mentioned something about them moving in together. It wasn’t a request, wasn’t a plan, wasn’t anything significant; just a remark about how they spend so much time in Taemin’s apartment that Kibum lives there more than his own apartment.

 

Since then, Taemin’s mind hasn’t rested, scheming how to get rid of him. He pours coffee for himself and wonders whether Kibum will stop staying over if he gets rid of his coffee machine or if Kibum will just buy a new one or get his coffee fix from the café nearby. He hangs his clothes up and sees the empty space in the cupboard which Kibum uses whenever he stays over and wonders whether he should buy more clothes to fill that space up. Then Kibum sends him an email with a promotional poster attached, one that he had personally designed, to ask Taemin what he thinks. Taemin catches himself wondering whether he should say something subtly cutting, something mean, and for the rest of the day, he can’t face his own reflection in the mirror.

 

So he’s here now, hiding in some derelict motel in the middle of an industrial wasteland. It has a television set that became outdated before he was born. The paint is peeling and the windows won’t close properly, so the hum of machinery leaks in from the outside and aggravates his already frazzled nerves.

 

His phone buzzes, adding to the noise. It’s been buzzing all day.

 

Taemin ignores his phone.

 

The sun goes down. Slowly, the sounds of the working day die into a stiff silence. The streetlamps blink on; the curtains are threadbare and do not prevent the harsh, artificial light from invading his room. A dog barks. His phone lies quietly on the bed.

 

Without the white noise drowning out his inner voice, Taemin is forced to confront his reasons for running.

 

He likes Kibum. He likes seeing him and misses him when he’s away. He likes holding his hand. He likes the way Kibum laughs, loudly, with his whole body, and he likes Kibum’s wit. He’s not interested in anyone else and he would definitely be unhappy if Kibum were to leave.

 

So why is he reacting like this?

 

Taemin knows the answer.

 

It’s because he’s selfish.

 

He wants Kibum around when it’s convenient for him; when he wants attention, when he wants someone to try a new café with or a warm body to snuggle into while watching Netflix. He wants Kibum around when he’s horny. He wants Kibum around to cook him breakfast in the morning and to give him a ride to work.

 

But deep down, he wants his solitude. He wants his freedom, his space. If Kibum lives with him, how is he going to lie about going to bed when he’s actually going to stay up and watch random conspiracy theory videos on Youtube? If Kibum lives with him, he can’t be himself, hiding in his room with all of the curtains drawn as if he’s Gollum simply because there are some days when the very idea of sunlight makes him want to die.

 

Because deep down, Taemin knows that he’s meant to be alone.

 

He’s not capable of loving. And he’s not someone that can be loved either. Kibum doesn’t know that yet, but he’ll learn in time. And then he’ll leave Taemin, just like everyone else does.

 

~

 

Kibum pushes in unrelentingly, stopping only when he’s fully sheathed. Taemin feels like he’s being speared open, walking a line between pain and pleasure. It’s too much and somehow, still not enough to fill the hollowness inside him. He wants time to get used to this feeling that has become unfamiliar, but he also wants Kibum to move, to do something, anything.

 

Kibum mouths at his neck and Taemin tips his head back, offering all of his skin, his body, for Kibum to mark as he pleases. He’s trying to catch his breath, to do more than just lie there and be fucked, but Kibum sets a pace that’s just half a breath faster than he can handle.

 

Lightning flashes, illuminating the world in brilliant white for a split-second. Taemin sees all of Kibum then; the sharp angles of his face and the curves of his shoulders.

 

~

 

The waves sound so loud at night when the rest of the world falls quiet; it’s a dull roar that never sounds quite the same from one moment to the next and if he were trying to sleep, it would drive him mad.

 

Where the waves are loud and restless, the moon is a quiet but steady presence. The moon bathes Kibum in silver light as he holds himself up over Taemin. His shoulders look like living marble, soft and strong at the same time, and if Taemin lets his eyes slip out of focus just the littlest bit, he can almost see the light tumbling off those shoulders like a waterfall.

 

He wonders what he looks like to Kibum. Is he dappled in moonlight too? Does the light flatter his hair, his skin or the marks Kibum has been leaving on him, one by one, over the course of the day? Does he look as pretty debauched as all photographers seem to think he would? If there were a mirror on the ceiling, he has a feeling that he’d never be able to take his eyes off it. A part of him wants that, but a part of him is glad that there isn’t one, because he has no choice now but to appreciate the beauty of Kibum’s shoulders.

 

“Your shoulders look nice,” Taemin says, more to himself than Kibum.

 

Kibum hears it anyway. He smothers a sharp bark of laughter against Taemin’s throat, self-conscious.

 

It makes Taemin uneasy, a little, when Kibum reacts like this. He’s not very good at picking up on emotions and Kibum hides his better than most, says one thing when he means another, laughs when he’s upset and cries when he’s happy.

 

But then Kibum looks at him, smiling, and even Taemin can see that he’s happy now. Taemin wonders whether Kibum’s other boyfriends – they’ve not talked about exes, but he can’t possibly be the first – have seen him like this; baring all, at ease and pleased. He would like to think that he’s different, better, but that’s a scary thought too. If he’s the only one who can make Kibum this happy, then doesn’t it become a responsibility?

 

Kibum kisses the corner of his mouth. Taemin can tell from the shape of his lips that Kibum’s still smiling. He chases Kibum’s lips, angling for a proper kiss, but Kibum backs just out of his reach, teasing. “You’re thinking very loudly.”

 

That’s new. No one’s ever accused him of _thinking_ during sex before.

 

“Huh?” Taemin squirms under Kibum’s attention, bucks his hips to deflect the question. “No one’s ever said that about me. Most people think I don’t have a brain at all, or that it doesn’t get much use.”

 

Kibum huffs. “People can be… they see what they want to see, not what is actually there. Particularly when you make it easy for them to.”

 

“But you can see.”

 

Kibum nods.

 

Taemin doesn’t actually know what to say to that, so he laces his fingers behind Kibum’s head and pouts at him until Kibum relents and kisses him. He’s like Kibum too, more similar than either of them will admit aloud. Maybe that’s why they understand each other.

 

It feels warm, to be understood.

 

~

“Taemin.”

 

Taemin snaps back to himself. Kibum has stopped moving, and even in the dim light Taemin can tell that Kibum is looking at him. Does Kibum have a clearer view of him?

 

“Are you okay?”

 

No, he isn’t, but that’s not what Kibum is asking. Taemin nods quickly, noting with displeasure that Kibum has stopped moving.

 

“Wow, I must really be losing my touch,” Kibum says then, sharp and humourless. “I’ve never made anyone space out before.”

 

And this is something Taemin can’t just nod or kiss away. He wants to tell Kibum not to stop, but his mouth is dry and even if he can find the words he can’t speak them. He swallows, but that just makes him cough.

 

 _If you’re trying to remind him why he walked away from the mess that you are, congratulations, you’re doing splendidly_.

 

**Shut up!**

 

Taemin tries again. “Can you come closer?” He brings his hands up – hands that were flopped uselessly against the sheets earlier – and runs them along Kibum’s shoulders, wary that he’s crossing an unseen line. “I can’t reach…”

 

See me, Taemin begs, like you once did.

 

Kibum dips down, his warm breath ghosting over Taemin’s lips. A second later, he shifts; he drops his body on Taemin’s, supporting himself on his forearms instead of his hands. And then he starts moving again.

 

Taemin wraps his legs around Kibum’s waist, wraps his arms around his shoulder, keeping him as close as he possibly can. He seeks out Kibum’s mouth hungrily, not caring how desperate he seems. If this is the last he can have of Kibum – no, he doesn’t want to think of that now.

 

Kibum doesn’t seem to mind; he allows Taemin to have as many kisses as he asks for, for as long as he can hold his breath. He inches his hands under Taemin’s body, palms up, pushing their bodies closer. Taemin can feel every one of Kibum’s heartbeats like this, against his chest, inside which his own heart beats a nervous rhythm. It’s only Kibum who does this; who understands what Taemin needs and gives it to him as simply as he breathes.

 

Thunder booms, as loud as a train wreck, and lightning flashes, drowning the room in electric white. His hair stands on end. It’s as if the sky is reflecting them and the raw emotion of their dalliance.

 

Kibum mouths at his neck and this time Taemin lets him, needing his own mouth to breathe. Hot and sticky, Kibum’s lips carve a path down to the hollow of his throat, where his pulse beats erratically. Kibum nips the skin lightly, at first, and then sucks on the sensitive skin hard; Taemin can’t help the loud, inhuman noise that escapes him then, and just a moment later, his feels his orgasm wash through him. It catches the both of them by surprise. When he comes back to himself, Taemin is ashamed; he hadn’t known how close he was to coming, had no control whatsoever over his own body. Kibum stays close, licking over the mark he’s just made, until Taemin’s breaths don’t sound ragged and that electric sensation in his skin fades.

 

“Are you okay?” Kibum asks.

 

Taemin nods his reply.

 

Kibum tries to move away then, to pull out even though he hasn’t reached completion, and Taemin scrambles to intercept him. “Don’t stop,” he says, grabbing Kibum’s arm. “Don’t-”

 

Like everything else, Kibum gives in to this to. He catches Taemin’s hand, laces their fingers together and chases his own orgasm in Taemin’s spent body. He’s oversensitive now and it borders on unpleasant, but it’s not about sex anymore. Once this is over, Kibum will leave. For now, Taemin gets to keep him a little while more.

Kibum comes with a shudder and a quiet exhale, graceful even when he’s not trying to be. Taemin uses his free hand to stroke through the short hairs on the back of Kibum’s neck, soothing him while he catches his breath.

 

The aftermath is awkward. Kibum is careful when he disentangles himself from Taemin, but when he speaks, his question is clinical. “Can I use the shower? Or do you want to go first?”

 

He shakes his head, hoping that Kibum can see him despite the poor lighting. He hates hearing his own voice in moments like this. If this were a different time, he would have suggested showering together, but he doesn’t know how Kibum will react and he doesn’t have the strength to move; his body is tired and aching, as is his heart. He tries to listen, to figure out how many minutes he has left with Kibum, but rain and thunder drown out the sound of the shower.

 

He doesn’t even realise that his eyes have slipped shut, that he’s drifted away to that halfway place between sleep and wakefulness, until Kibum taps his arm.

 

“Huh?”

 

Kibum pushes a warm, wet towel into his hand. “Here, tomorrow you will hate today you if you wake up all icky.”

 

He takes the towel from Kibum, but shame heats his cheeks as he thinks of wiping himself down. Thankfully, Kibum turns away, looking for bits and pieces of his clothing scattered across the floor and putting them on as Taemin quickly wipes drying cum off his stomach and thighs.

 

He dumps the dirty towel off the side of the bed. Tomorrow him already hates today him; this small aggravation won’t make much of a difference.

 

_Fucking and running is your thing, isn’t it? Not so nice to be on the other side, is it?_

 

Now, Taemin feels the chill of the rainy night that Kibum’s warmth had kept at bay. He pulls the blanket around himself and curls into a ball; there is something hot and bitter in his chest that threatens to spill from his eyes, so it might be a good thing that Kibum will be leaving soon.

 

“Can I borrow your umbrella? I’ll return it at work on Monday.”

 

Taemin nods, vigorously, hoping that Kibum can see him.

 

“Right. Thanks.” The shadow that is Kibum moves towards the door, opens it and, unexpectedly, pauses.

 

Taemin’s treacherous heart skips a beat.

 

Kibum sighs. “You know, life would be a lot easier if you could just open your mouth and tell me what you want.”

 

~

 

_Kibum huffs. “People can be… they see what they want to see, not what is actually there. Particularly when you make it easy for them to.”_

 

_“But you can see.”_

 

_Kibum nods._

 

~

 

Kibum is waiting for him, Taemin realises. Kibum has been waiting for a long time, for Taemin to see him the way he sees Taemin.

 

With his heart thundering in his chest, Taemin reaches out, holds out a trembling hand and says “I want you to stay.”

 

XXXXX

 

_hiya! what a quick update amirite?_

_i have a short epilogue written but this story kind of feels complete? so there may or may not be an epilogue coming :P_

_as always, i'd love to hear your thoughts on taemin's side of things, what you liked and what didn't work etc._

_warm regards,_

_sherleigh_

 

 


	3. Epilogue: Blue Light

**Blue Light**

 

If you had taken a walk on a particularly remote strip of beach in the Gangneung region of South Korea on an early winter’s night, you might have walked past two men standing in the wet sand, just beyond the reach of the waves.

 

You might have stared – might even have stopped, for a while – because they’re both beautiful and not in an ordinary way. You might even have wondered whether they were brothers, because they are alike in their gaze and the way they hold themselves, before your eyes inevitably fell to their linked fingers and you think ah! with a shade of embarrassment. It’s clearly a private moment that you’ve intruded upon.

 

You’d have walked past, slower than your usual gait, because there’s something magnetic about these strange men. At some point, you would have been unable to resist the temptation to take another look, and so you would have turned, to see them walking in the opposite direction. You would have seen the guy with the blonde hair, who’s slightly shorter, try to link arms with the other, who shakes him off impatiently. In the distance, you would have heard him complaining “Yah, it’s hard enough to walk in this sand, are you trying to make me trip?” You would have heard a responding laugh, and, if you listened very, very carefully, you would have heard a soft, airy voice say “I won’t let you fall, hyung.”

 

Smiling, you would have looked up to see the full, brilliant moon shining down on you – and them too.


End file.
